Dyann shrugged and went on unpacking. She hung an extra sword on the wall, unshipped her armor and put it up, and slipped into a loose fur-trimmed robe. Urushkidan slithered to the floor and opened his own trunk, pulling out a score of fat books which he placed on the shelf over his bunk and expropriated the little table for his papers, pencils, and humidor.
"You know—ah—Dr. Urushkidan—" said Ballantyne uneasily, "I wish you weren't going to Jupiter."
"And why not?" asked the Martian belligerently.
"Well, doesn't your reformulation of general relativity indicate a way to build a ship which can go faster than light?"
"Among oter tings, yes." Urushkidan blew a malodorous cloud of smoke.
"Well, I don't think the Jovians are interested in science for its own sake. I think they want to get you and your knowledge so they can build such ships themselves which would be the last thing they need to take over the Solar System."
"A Martian," said Urushkidan condescendingly, "is not concerned wit te squabblings of te lower animals. Noting personal, of course."
Dyann pulled an idol from her trunk and put it on her shelf. It was a small wooden image, gaudily painted and fiercely tusked, each of its six arms holding some weapon. One, Ballantyne noticed, was a carved Terrestrial tommy-gun. "Qviet, please," she said, raising one arm. "I am about to pray to Ormun the Terrible."
"Barbarian," guffawed Urushkidan.
Dyann took a pillow and stuffed it in his mouth. "Qviet, please, I said." She smiled gently and prostrated herself before the god.